Origin of Scars
by The Thief King
Summary: Every story has a beginning. The story of the life of Thief King Bakura… before he became what he became. NO CASTESHIPPING, NO YAOI! Rated T for violence and explicit gore.
1. Chapter 1

**Origin of Scars**

_My first fanfic! Yay! The idea for this story was cooked up in my insane mind. I don't know how the heck Thief Bakura got that strange scar, AND IT REALLY BOTHERS ME. So I decided, hey, if Kazuki Takahashi won't tell us, then I'll make up my own story! This is my debut story here on (and also happens to be the only fanfiction I've written that's longer than a paragraph.) To introduce myself... HELLO! I'm The Thief King. Bakura's not happy with me for stealing his name, but hey, you know, he can deal with it. Some of you may know me in real life (cough cough, YamiHeart) and I hope everyone enjoys my first story!_

_Just fair warning: THIS IS NOT CASTESHIPPING. If you were looking for a casteshipping story, well, there's the door *points.* It's about Bakura and the pharaoh being FRIENDS, nothing more. If you choose to read more into it, well, knock yourself out. I can't tell you what to think. But I CAN tell you that my intent in writing this was not casteshipping_

_Bastet: Yaoi fangirls are disturbing..._

_Oh, hey, everyone, forgot to mention this! This is Bastet. She's like my Yami, living inside my body._

_Bastet: Hi..._

_Yes, well, going back to your original point, yaoi fangirls ARE quite creepy. I understand some shippings, like Priest Seto and Kisara, or Atem and Mana, but... Seto and Mokuba? *shudders* That's just wrong_

_Bastet: Osiris and Isis were siblings, as well as husband and wife._

_O_O Alrighty then moving right along! Just to clear up… sorry if the summary confuses some people. When I say "We were brothers," I don't mean they were ACTUALLY brothers. I mean it in, you know, the sense that they were so close, they were practically brothers. They're not really related._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any of the characters. If I did, 4kids would not be the ones dubbing it, and Tea would have died in the first five minutes of the first episode._

* * *

ORIGIN OF SCARS: CHAPTER ONE

I haven't always hated the pharaoh. As hard as it may be to believe, he was once my friend. Closer than a friend. We were like brothers. But that is all lost now. It happened years ago, but I still remember. I don't know or care if he does. It all happened years ago…

My life did not begin in Kul Elna, the city of thieves and sinners. My family once proudly served the pharaoh. I remember holding my mother's hand and watching in wonder as Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen held the infant prince up for all the kingdom, the hushed murmur as the people of Egypt fell to their knees to worship the baby that would one day be king, the curious eyes of the little child looking out over the assembled crowd, having no way of yet knowing that someday, he would rule over this entire land as pharaoh. I was only three years old at the time; I didn't understand much more than the infant did what he would one day become. I didn't understand why they all bowed before him. He was just a baby. Why was he special?

My mother was assigned to the young prince as his caretaker, as the pharaoh and his wife were too busy to care for him themselves. Oft times I accompanied her in caring for him – bathing him, feeding him, walking him in the garden – for I was too young then to do many jobs on my own. As I grew older, I began to understand the difference between the boy we cared for and myself. He was royalty, and I was naught but his servant. He never treated me as such, though. Perhaps it was because I was always around when he was growing up, and such he accepted me as some sort of brother to him. My mother and I were watching as he took his first few steps with his father. I told him stories at night while he fell asleep. His first words were "papa" and "mama." His next word was "Kura."

By this age I was old enough to aid my mother in caring for the young pharaoh, among my other duties in the palace, acting as the boy's protector and friend. Though was several years older than him, that didn't seem to matter to him. He was always happy to see me, always reaching forward when he saw me coming with a loud, excited cry of "Kura!"

As we both grew older, our bond strengthened further. No longer was I merely _his _caretaker; we both took care of each other. If he fell down and got hurt, I would bandage the wound and dry his tears, as would be expected of the caretaker. Yet he did the same for me, without hesitation. At times it seemed like the line between us blurred, the distinction weakened. It didn't matter that he was royalty and I was his servant. Family doesn't always mean joined by blood, and for a time, the young pharaoh and I were family.

During many long hot days, we would play together outside in the gardens of the palace, imagining that we were the leaders of Egypt, great pharaohs ruling over the land. We always ruled as joint pharaohs in our little game, two brothers leading the kingdom together as one. I once pointed out that this could never happen; two people could not rule one country. He just smiled. "Silly 'Kura!" he said, taking my hand in his. "Of course they can!"

I frowned, my brow furrowing. "But no one's ever done that before."

He smiled again. "So we'll be the first," he told me. "Picture it, 'Kura!" he cried, turning to face the city that he would one day command. "The two of us, pharaohs, brothers, ruling over this entire land! They'll chant our names in the streets. 'Bakura and Atem, the greatest rulers that Egypt has ever seen!' Right, 'Kura?"

I knew it could never be so. That was the moment when I fully realized that we were not the same, no matter how close we were as friends, no matter what we said… he would always be the son of the pharaoh, and I would always be the son of a servant. The fact that we were friends even went against what was traditional. The servants were there to serve the pharaoh, not to befriend him and come up with elaborate plans of how they would rule Egypt together. That was not how it was. But the way he was looking at me, so innocent, so hopeful… how could I crush that?

I forced a smile. "Of course."

* * *

_Yay! The first chapter is complete! R&R? Please? I hope you liked it! I'll try and get chapter two up soon, but nice reviews will make me write faster! *very unsubtle hint.*_

_Bastet: Yes, please review so she doesn't keep bemoaning the fact that no one reads her stories..._

_I do NOT!_

_Bastet: Yes, indeed you do, my little Hikari. You're not fooling anyone._

_Hmph. Well, yes, review. I want to hear what you have to say. Be nice, though... if you don't like something about it, tell me in a nice way, not "YOUR STORY IS CRAP!" Thank you.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_Gah! Sorry I didn't get this up sooner!_

_Bastet: Yes, why DID it take you so long? You have the entire story written already._

_That's true! YAY! The entire story is done! ... the problem is, it's all written in my notebook. So I have to type it all up still. THAT'S why it took so long, because I've been so bloody busy that I haven't gotten a chance to type it up._

_Bastet: Suuuuuuuuuure._

_Shush up. Anyways, this chapter was supposed to be TWO chapters, but the first one was really short. So I decided I'd just combine them. I hope you like the chapter!_

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any characters. Feh, I wish. I own the plot line. And my cats. That's about it.  
_

* * *

The thought haunted me for a long time. I had always known we were different, of course, but it didn't really hit me until that day. It was like… like simple math. I mean, in the back of your mind, you know 2+2=4. You just know it. You don't think about it. Okay, perhaps that's not the best example. You know what I mean!

The king of the jungle does not befriend the house cat. The master does not befriend the slave. It just is not how things work, unfortunately. I would never be more than a mere servant, the son of a slave, and he would never be anything less than the most powerful man in Egypt.

Therefore what was the point of our friendship now if we would be separated in the days to come? For we could never truly be equals. We should not even be friends.

His ideas were absurd. Two pharaohs? Impossible! If Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen had a brother, they could not rule together. The eldest would rule, and the younger would be nothing better than a servant or priest.

People are never equals, are they? There must always be one who is above the other; no two people can share the same power. Even in brothers, there is one favored by the father, one favored by the people, one favored by all.

There can be but one pharaoh, and one pharaoh only.

And yet… a small voice nagged in my mind, a tiny, hopeful voice; maybe it _was _possible. Maybe, just maybe… we could be the first.

I knew it was absurd, stupid, and yet I dreamed that it might be so. We could rule together, he and I, Atem and Bakura, supreme rulers, the greatest pharaohs Egypt has ever known! People would worship us in the streets, bow down before us, cry out praise as we passed. We could be friends, brothers, equals… forever.

The beginning of the end started when I was ten and the pharaoh was seven. My family had never been rich, but we had always had enough. At that time, however, we were struggling. In order for us to survive, my father began stealing.

He thought my mother and I didn't know.

She didn't.

I, on the other hand, did.

I would watch, wide awake, huddled under the blankets, as my father slipped out of the small room we all shared, in the dead of night, and return hours later, his pockets laden with small golden items.

I had always idolized my father and everything he did. I was young; I didn't understand that stealing was wrong. If my father did it, it was fine. That was the logic of mine at ten years old. To me, my father was the epitome of "right." If he said something, if he did something… it was right.

I learned that that was not the way things worked the hard way.

I was with the young pharaoh in the main chamber, Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen seated at the head of the room on his throne. There was nothing special about that day, or so it seemed. To me, it was just like any other day. I was playing with the young prince and Mahad, one of the pharaoh's future protectors. Mahad was the same age as I.

We were going about our game as if it was any other day, when suddenly, the doors of the palace were flung open with a loud bang. All three of our heads snapped up and we stared, wide-eyed, as the guards entered, dragging a struggling young man behind them. They brought the man before Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen and forced him down to his knees.

"This man was caught stealing from the palace!" the guard said, bowing his head before the king. Mahad, the prince, and I watched in silence. "What shall be his punishment, my pharaoh?"

All eyes turned on the pharaoh, awaiting his answer. He was silent for a time. "A public execution," he said finally.

My eyes widened further and I looked at the prince. He looked as shocked and horrified as I felt.

Mahad, on the other hand, simply looked grim.

A public execution?

Just for theft?

How did they know that this man wasn't like my father, stealing only to provide for his family, stealing because he had no options left?

What if he simply didn't have a choice?

Questions raced through my mind at lightning speed, each one more distressing than the other, as the guards exited, hauling the thief out with them.

Mahad forced a smile, looking back at the young pharaoh and me. "Come on, let's go for a walk in the gardens," Mahad suggested, with what I could tell was forced cheerfulness. The prince and I followed.

I don't know who was more traumatized; me, for learning what may one day await my father; or the young pharaoh, for seeing his father issue those orders.

In any case, Mahad did not seem fazed at all. I suppose now that it was because he had seen this happen before. He of knew the punishment that lay in store for thieves and criminals. He merely seemed resigned to their fate, knowing he could do nothing to stop the death of the young man.

None of us could.

We played as we always did, like nothing had happened, but somehow, it seemed something was missing. We all sensed it, but pretended it was not there.

My heart was not in it that day, for I felt an impending doom hovering over my head, ready to come crashing down without warning at any time.

A foreboding of what might come.

* * *

_Well? Was it okay?_

_Bastet: It's depressing, if that's what you're going for._

_Kind of, yes! Well, I didn't think this chapter was THAT depressing. It's just setting up for MORE depressing things! YAAAAAAAAY! Depressing things galore!_

_Bastet: ... You have PROBLEMS, Hikari._

_No, I don't. I just like depressing violent and gory things._

_Bastet: Case in point._

_*Sticks tongue out* Anyhoo, read and review? Please? You get a cookie if you do! *hands out cookies to everyone who reviews*  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm back! With another chapter! Hooray! This one is filled with lots of blood and gore. This is the infamous chapter that made my friend with the strongest stomach squirm. Warning: if you have an aversion to reading about violence involving the head and neck, you probably shouldn't read this chapter_

_Bastet: How did I get stuck with such a violent Hikari? You and my sister would get along well._

_Aw, thanks!_

_Bastet: I didn't mean that as a compliment. _

_Oh… well… anyways… read and review? And be sad for little Bakura? UNLIKE SOMEONE! *looks pointedly at sukairaa-chan* Like some people who said they would laugh and kick dirt in his face. Ahem, anyways, read and review. Because if you do I shall give you a cookie. And a hug. Hugs are nice. So are reviews._

_Bastet: Hikari, the story?_

_OH RIGHT! Off we go. Chapter three._

_One more thing! I promise this is the last thing! Big thanks to RiverTear980, who pushed me to update this. Without RiverTear, this chapter probably wouldn't have been up for another few days. Thanks for keeping me motivated!_

* * *

The young pharaoh wasn't permitted to watch the execution.

Father didn't want me to go, either, for obvious reasons, but Mother insisted, saying it would be a valuable lesson.

Only I saw the haunted, tortured look on my father's face as Mother turned away.

It was a hot day, I remember it well. The harsh Egyptian sun beat mercilessly down upon the city, scorching the dry cracked earth. I mopped sweat from my brow as Mother and I moved steadily towards the center of town.

As we approached the town square, I saw that a small crowed had already formed around a large wooden platform. I darted through the throng of people to stand at the front, so that I could see. Suddenly, though, I was unsure. _What am I doing here? I don't know if I want to see this…_

The guards had not yet arrived with the condemned man, and the crowd seemed anxious to witness the execution.

As some time passed, more people gathered and the crowd grew steadily.

We all waited with bated breath.

No one spoke. The tension hung heavy in the air like a swarm of gnats.

Anticipation buzzed in the thickening atmosphere, and I couldn't help but wonder why.

A man was going to be killed.

Why did that induce this reaction in people?

It was awful, violent, barbaric, not exciting, not something to anticipate.

Suddenly the air seemed heavy, oppressive, I couldn't breath, I needed to get away, _I didn't want to see this! _

I turned to run, panic bubbling up in my chest, but was met face-to-face with the soldiers, holding the convicted man in chains. I couldn't run now. I turned my back to them, trying to suppress the dread rising up in my throat. I stood my ground as the soldiers pushed through the crowed to the center, to the platform.

I hadn't really taken a close look at the platform before now. It was made of some kind of light wood, the floor covered loosely in straw. In the dead center of the platform was a large wooden block.

The dark wood of the block was already covered in dark red stains. Blood. From the previous executions? I didn't know. I felt the horror fighting me again, screaming at me to run, but I stood my ground.

The accused man was forced to his knees, his head pressed down onto the wooden block, his cheek resting against the bloody stains. One of the soldiers stepped forward to address the crowd of onlookers, unrolling a scroll as he did. He read the declaration in a loud, clear voice. "This man has been caught stealing from the royal palace. The punishment for the crime, as decided by the great and almighty Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, is death. So has it been written, and so shall it be done."

With that, he rolled up the scroll again and stepped back, nodding slightly at a man I had not noticed up until that moment, whose face was hidden in shadows by the dark hood he wore.

The hooded man was holding a large, gleaming sword.

The man equipped with the sword stepped up to the thief, whose head still rested on the block of wood.

The condemned man was feverishly muttering a prayer, his eyes slammed tightly shut.

The dark man raised his sword high, the metal flashing in the sun, and brought it crashing down onto the thief's neck.

His head did not come off on the first swing.

As the sword smashed into his neck, his eyes flew wide and he uttered a terrible, rasping, guttural scream, blood gurgling in his throat and cutting his scream short. Again the blade fell, and again the blood erupted out of the fount of his neck.

I let out a cry and pressed my hands to my face, covering my eyes, but it was too late. I had already seen it. I had already seen everything.

Though I had only had a fleeting glimpse of the image, it adhered itself to my memory like mortar to bricks, burning itself into my retinas, every detail firmly stressed in my mind. The stark, jagged white of the bone jutting from the mutilated flesh of his neck, so horribly stumpy upon his limp shoulders, the bits of sinew and muscle dangling from the sharp edge of the sword, the red blood dripping onto the ground, the muted _thud _of his disembodied head as it hit the straw and rolled forward to rest on the edge of the platform, barely five feet from where I stood.

His eyes were still flung wide, his jaws stretched open in a last silent, desperate scream, his eyes watching my with a cold, accusing stare, as if to say, "someday, this will be you…"

* * *

_Bastet: *twitches* So…much…gore…_

_I know right! It's awesome! *drinks some red kool-aid*_

_Bastet: HOW CAN YOU DRINK THAT RIGHT NOW?_

_What? Why is that so bad? Oh, 'cause it looks like blood? *shrugs*_

_Bastet: You have MAJOR problems, Hikari…*shudders*_

_Well, so that's the third chapter! Pretty violent, huh? And creepy. Review? Please? Remember you get free hugs and free cookies if you do! *looks at RiverTear980* Now where's my pancakes with REAL CANADIAN maple syrup?_


	4. Chapter 4

I'm back! I'm sooooooooooo sorry it took so long to update. School and stuff. Sucks. Anyways! New chappie! Yay! Well, this one STARTS out happy, at least…

Bastet: Finally!

… and ends depressing with Bakura being severely injured.

Bastet: *facepalm*

Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaah… so anyways! Moving on! I still don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, yadda yadda, all I own is the fluffy plot bunny for this story. Enjoy!

* * *

The image of the dead man stalked my dreams and haunted my mind even in the waking world. My arms felt like lead when I did my work, my mind felt like it was stuffed with cloth, wrapped tightly like a mummified corpse with no room for movement.

The young pharaoh noticed. He mentioned nothing of it, but I saw it in his face, the way he spoke to me, the looks he cast my way when he thought I wouldn't notice. He tried to cheer me up as best he could, and sometimes it worked. His enthusiasm was infectious, impossible to resist.

On one day, a particularly gorgeous day, the prince found me working in the palace. "Come on, Kura!" he said, pulling on my arm and trying to drag me out of the room. "Let's go out!"

I frowned, resisting his efforts. "What?"

He shifted from foot to foot impatiently, still holding firmly to my wrist. "Father told me I could go out riding, outside the palace, but only if you and Mahad come with me. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, Kura? It'll be fun, promise!"

I opened my mouth to refuse, to protest that I had work to do, but he was looking at me with enormous pleading puppy eyes. "That's not fair!" I protested. No one could resist the prince when he did that. "You can't do that! That's cheating!"

The prince jumped up with a grin and a little clap, letting go of my arm. "Good! That means yes, right?" He didn't wait for an answer before he grabbed my hand, practically dragging me to the stables.

Mahad was already there, atop a black stallion, awaiting us calmly. I glanced around. "But I don't have a horse…" I pointed out, standing off to the side awkwardly as the pharaoh mounted a white mare.

"Take that one," he said, indicating a silver horse. I swung myself up onto the horse's back.

Almost before I had touched the horse, the pharaoh shot off, leaving Mahad and me in the dust.

"Slow down!" Mahad called, kicking his horse's side, forcing to into a gallop. I did the same, and nearly fell off backwards as the horse shot forward, only managing to stay on by grabbing a tight fistful of the horse's long white mane.

We streaked off into the surrounding desert, following the pharaoh. Mahad and I finally caught up to the younger boy, all horses at a gallop.

The young prince laughed, exhilarated. "Let's play a game!" he cried. "I'll be a criminal, and you two are soldiers! You have to catch me!"

Mahad and I exchanged a glance. "I'm not sure if your father—" Mahad began, but was cut off by a shout of "GO!" from the young pharaoh. The boy dug his heels into the horse's ribs, urging it forward at an even faster pace.

Mahad and I raced after him on instinct, without thinking, flying like the wind. I looked at Mahad and we both understood what the other was thinking, without saying a word. I split off to the right; Mahad to the left. I wore a grin on my face as we rode; finally, I felt free.

I don't remember much of what happened next, but the pharaoh told me enough.

From what Mahad said, my horse's ankle twisted as it turned, bringing to down. I started to fall before the beast did, and it was because of that that the horse's sharp hoof came down onto my leg, striking it a glancing blow.

There was a sickening, blinding flash of agony, the horrible sound of flesh ripping, Mahad and the pharaoh crying out in surprise and fear…. Then everything went black.

~/~/~

Feverish dreams and haunting nightmares daunted my sleep. In my delirium, I don't know how long I was unconscious. It could have been hours, it could have been days. The pharaoh said that I muttered things in my sleep, but I don't remember saying any of them.

The first thing I was aware of when I finally woke, before I even opened my eyes, was a searing blaze of agony in my right thigh.

I slowly opened my eyes, blinking several times in an attempt to make out the blurry face leaning over me. Gradually, the young pharaoh's anxious face came into focus, barely a foot from mine. As it did, he cried out. "He's awake! Nishiri! Nishiri! He's awake! He's going to be okay!"

Before I could really register what the hell was going on, the wind was compressed out of my lungs as the prince flung his arms around my chest, crushing me into a bear-hug. I swear I felt my ribs crack.

"I'm so sorry, Kura, I'm sorry, this is all my fault, I'm so sorry…" He repeated it like a mantra, some sort of chant. He pulled back from me, and I saw that his eyes were wet.

"What's your fault?" I asked, still dazed and disoriented. "What happened?"

Again, the pain flared in my right leg. I threw back the ragged blanket from my legs and shimmied the skirt up my thighs to inspect the source of the pain.

The pharaoh reached desperately for my wrists, trying to stop me. "No, Kura, don't—"

It was too late.

I had already seen it.

Already seen the stained white cloth that staunched the wound on my thigh, the dark red stain that permeated the fabric.

The moment I laid eyes on the wound, the pain intensified tenfold. I let out a cry of shock and pain.

"You… you fell off the horse…" the boy explained softly, his voice faltering. "I mean, it's a miracle, really, that you didn't break your leg. The horse's hoof, it… well…" His voice trailed off as his eyes followed mine to the bloody dressing on my leg.

I yanked my skirt back down, not wanting to look at it anymore. If it was that bad _with _the bandage… I definitely didn't want to know what the actual _wound _looked like.

I pressed the heels of my palms to my forehead, registering in some part of my mind that my skin was cold, covered with a sheen of sweat.

I felt a hesitant hand on my shoulder and lifted my face, my eyes meeting with the pharaoh's. "I'm so sorry, Kura, I—" he began, but I cut him off.

"It's not…" My voice was trembled. I cleared my throat weakly and tried again. "It's not your fault."

He shook his head. "But it is! This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't asked you to come with me, if I hadn't suggested that game, if I hadn't—"

I interrupted, managing a small smile. "Yes, and if I hadn't agreed to go riding, if I hadn't turned when I did, if I hadn't gone so fast, then this wouldn't have happened," I pointed out. "It's as much my fault as anyone else's."

His hand had dropped from my shoulder and was resting in his lap, his head bowed and his eyes downcast. Now it was my turn to place a hand on his shoulder, me comforting him instead of him comforting me. "I don't blame you for this."

He looked up, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He sniffled and wiped his eyes. "R-really?"

I nodded. "Of course. Brothers always forgive each other, don't they?"

He smiled, a weak little smile. "Yes." He reached forward and hugged me again.

At that moment, the pain throbbing through my mind didn't matter. All that did matter was that we were both here, together. I had my friend, my brother.

But all good things cannot last.

They never last.

Even at that young age, I think I knew that. I did not want to know it. I denied it, pushed it from my mind. Yet I still knew it.

And bear in mind, this is not where my story ends. They lived happily ever after, right?

Wrong.

That is only in the fairy tales, not ever in real life.

I faced the days to come with a certainty that naught could go wrong, as long as the pharaoh was by my side.

How blissfully wrong I was.

* * *

Bastet: You killed it.

What?

Bastet: It was a cute brotherly moment. Aaaaaaaaaaand ya killed it.

Yeah, well… sorry. :( I just can't write happy things. It's a handicap. Anyways, R&R? Pwease? Free spritz cookies for those who do!


	5. Chapter 5

Hurray! Another chappie! Aren't you all so excited? *cricket noises* Okay, well, anyways.

Bastet: Let me guess. This chapter is depressing, right?

Yup!

Bastet: Oh, how DID I know?

Hee hee. This one is REALLY sad. It involves small children crying.

Bastet: *facepalm*

So, shall we get on with it? Yes. So we shall. Enjoy!

* * *

And now, this brings us to the end of the end.

The injury to my leg was bad enough that I had trouble walking for a time. The blow had torn muscle and ligament as well as flesh. I was in a constant state of pain for nearly a month, and spent most of that time holed up in my room of the servants' quarters. Many days the young pharaoh came to visit, often times accompanied by Mahad as well.

As time passed and the wound healed, I gradually regained movement, beginning to walk and run again. My right leg was always weaker than my left, however. The wound had left a deep, jagged scar that never faded, a constant reminder of happier times, times before the pharaoh had betrayed me, a time when we were friends.

What is that expression you use nowadays? _Time flies when you're having fun._ Well, thus was the same with us. Days passed like moments, weeks flew by like seconds. Looking back later, I wish we had lingered over those moments. I wish the days could have been longer, or that we could have had more time. Memories blur together, until it is hard to remember the details of those days.

Not that I look back at that time much now.

Don't think I do, because I don't.

But sometimes… only sometimes… I wish things had been different.

But I waver from my tale. I was telling you of the end of end, was I not? Oh, but don't fret. This may be the end of the end, but it's not the end.

How's that for confusing?

Anyways, on with it.

The end of the end came in the hottest month in Egypt. I had been outside in the gardens, bent over the work. I heard a commotion, and looked up to see a man being dragged into the throne room by the guards.

The man was my father.

I swear my heart stopped beating for a full five seconds. My mind took off at the same speed as my heart, which was now pounding like a galloping horse. _He's been caught he's been caught he's been caught they're going to kill him…_

Once I snapped out of my shocked stupor, I ran after them, as best I could. The muscles on my leg screamed in protest, but I ignored it, bursting into the room just as my father was pushed to his knees before Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen. I started towards him with a cry of "Father!"

But before I had taken more than a few steps, I was stopped by a firm hand on my wrist. I turned, wide-eyed, to see one of the pharaoh's High Priests, Akhenaden.

I had never really liked Akhenaden. There was something about him that intimidated me. A quiet, lurking darkness, curled like a silent cobra, waiting for the perfect moment to lash out and strike to deliver a fatal blow, just when you would least expect it.

The priest's face was grave. "You cannot interfere," he told me in a low voice. "Your father must be judged."

I turned my face back to watch the proceedings, not trying to escape Akhenaden's grip anymore. Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to fall. What would they do to my father? What would they do to _me_?

"This servant was caught thieving in the village," the guard informed Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen. The Pharaoh was silent for a moment, his head bowed low. "Sadji," he finally spoke, addressing my father, his voice quiet. "You have always been a loyal servant to me. Why have you done this now?"

My father kept his head down. "I am truly sorry, my king," he said softly, averting his eyes. "I did it only for my family, so that we might have enough to live." He looked up, and his eyes met the Pharaoh's. Even from the other side of the chamber, I could see the pleading desperation in his dark eyes. "Please, your highness, I beg you." His choked voice was barely above a whisper, so that I had to strain to hear it. "I did it for my son."

The Pharaoh rose and approached my father. He looked down at the man on his knees before him. "You have been a loyal servant to me for many years, Sadji, and a true friend. Therefore I will spare you the customary punishment for thieves." My stomach swooped with relief at those words, but it was short-lived. What the king next said stopped my relief cold and brought my heart to a shuddering halt. "But you cannot remain here. You must take your family away from the palace, away from the city. Go to Kul Elna. That is where you shall stay. That is where you belong."

I twisted in Akhenaden's grip, panic bubbling up in my throat. Leave? No! I would not leave! I _could _not! This was the only home I had ever known. I couldn't leave Mahad, the pharaoh, everyone…

Akhenaden's hand remained firmly clamped on my wrist, however, and so I could do nothing. I opened my mouth to cry out something, anything, but at the glare that the High Priest gave me, the words died in my throat. I watched, letting out a small whimper of disbelief and denial as my father nodded his head in acknowledgement of the Pharaoh's order.

My father stood, turning. As he passed me, he touched my shoulder. Akhenaden finally released me, and I rubbed my wrist, shooting him a reproachful look. His grip had been tight enough to hurt.

My father kept his hand on my shoulder, either not seeing my tears or pretending that he didn't.

We left for our rooms to prepare to leave… and that was the end of it.

We left the palace for good a few hours after the order had been issued. My mother wept silently the entire time, as we packed up what few belongings we had, refusing to look at my father. None of us said more than a few words. I was trying to be strong, to fight the tears, and for a long time, I managed to do it.

We departed as the sun was beginning to set, sinking low beneath the desert sands. Kul Elna was not too terribly far from the palace, but we had no horse, and would need to travel on foot. At least we hadn't much to carry with us.

We had almost reached the huge stone gates of the palace when I heard a cry behind me. I stopped and turned my head to see the young prince running towards us, his arms outstretched. I could see that he was crying, tears flying from his eyes as he ran. I did my best not to cry as he did. I was older; I should be stronger. My eyes burned with the effort, my heart throbbed, and suddenly the air seemed incredibly dense, making it nigh impossible to draw breath.

Before he could reach us, however, his father's arms closed around him, keeping him back. He sobbed and struggled in the man's strong arms, trying desperately to get free. "No!" he shouted between sobs. "Don't send them away, father! Don't send Kura away! No! Father! Don't make them leave…!"

For a moment, one brief, fleeting moment, my eyes met the young pharaoh's. I saw the eyes of my companion, my friend, my brother, the one whom I'd always been there for, and the one who'd always been there for me, the one I'd shared my life with.

It was in that moment that with a stabbing, shattering agony in my heart, I realized I would never look into those eyes again. "Goodbye, Atem," I whispered, my voice trembling violently. "Fare thee well, my brother…" I trailed off, turning away for the last time, turning away from the only life I had ever known, turning away from my friend, my brother, the one person I had always been able to count on.

I never looked back.

* * *

Bastet: O_O So… sad…

I know right? I was writing this when I was supposed to be reading a book in English class. I got asked several times why I looked so sad. Anyways… read and review! Pwease! Love you all!


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